


Taste You All Over My Teeth

by singlesrvngfrend



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-13
Updated: 2011-10-13
Packaged: 2017-10-24 14:19:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singlesrvngfrend/pseuds/singlesrvngfrend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared stops by to visit Jensen in L.A. Uh, I guess it's fairly PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taste You All Over My Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by nightanddaze, who wanted some J2, book, and lemon. This took about 12 years. That's only a slight exaggeration.
> 
> Thanks to nightanddaze for beta, encouragement, love, patience, inspiration, etc. Title is from Jimmy Eat World. Any remaining mistakes are my own, feel free to point them out.
> 
> Comments are ♥

Jensen has this _enormous_ copy of _Brideshead Revisited_ some great-uncle or something gave to him in high school; Jared doesn’t know if it was in jest, or a snide comment, or just an oblivious gift. Jensen is pretty blasé about it, and because the book is not too thick but is covered in a hard, tough leather binding, he takes particular glee in using it as a cutting board. Jensen doesn’t do a lot of cooking, but he’s forever cutting up citrus fruits in the living room or on the deck when Chris and Steve want limes for their Corona or tequila shots, or Danneel has to have a wedge of tangerine for her Blue Moon. Sometimes Jensen will even bring home a big bag of lemons to squeeze fresh and mix with cheap vodka and a bubbling bottle of sweetened seltzer water. Says it reminds him of how they always beat the heat on sweltering Texas afternoons.

When Jared walks in to Jensen’s L.A. apartment on a rare drizzly Tuesday in the summer, Jensen is on his couch with his knees scooted up to the edge of his coffee table. His cutting board book is holding the cut-up remains of a pineapple, of all things, and when Jensen looks up at him as he walks in the room he looks like he’s just been caught jerking off to snuff porn or something, instead of eating a tropical fruit.

Jared flops down beside him on the couch, mouth closed around the obvious question but eyebrows unable to keep from creeping up in curiosity. Jensen shrugs and noticeably fights the irrational guilt, blush sneaking across nose and cheekbones and skipping to the tips of his ears.

“What?” he asks, preemptively, a little defensive. “I was craving some fruit.”

Jared pointedly looks across the room where a jutting granite counter marks the beginning of the kitchen, and then back at Jensen, who just shrugs again.

“I was watching tv. You can’t see it very good from in there.”

Jared just nods slowly and turns to see what Jensen couldn’t tear himself away from, which is apparently some British show about a guy who found an old BMW 6 series and has set about restoring it within a certain budget. It’s fairly interesting, Jared supposes, but as Jensen gets the pineapple dismantled into actually edible pieces and chunks, watching _that_ becomes far more appealing.

The pineapple’s juice is getting everywhere, and if the book weren’t already ruined by years’ worth of fruit juice seeping into the pages, the pineapple would have done the job all by itself. Jared briefly toys with the idea of grabbing a wad of paper towels to put around the book for all the juice that’s rolling and dripping off the sides onto the coffee table, but he considers that Jen might get the idea to use them on himself. Jared doesn’t want that.

Because the pineapple has _soaked_ Jensen’s hands, and his mouth is shiny and sticky. He and Jen have fooled around a couple of times—squirreled away in the Great White North, cut off from girlfriends, they’ve both gotten lonely, and Jared’s handsy nature gets completely out of control when he’s had too much to drink; if it’s anything more than that he hasn’t admitted it to himself, much less to Jensen. But those few sloppy, drunken memories are dust compared to the pornographic display going on in front of Jared, and he honestly can’t think of anything better in this moment than to put Jensen’s fingers in his mouth one by one and lick them clean and slick.

So Jared does. He manages to grab the remote from between them and find the mute button before tossing it to the coffee table to skid through the puddle of pineapple juice. He scoots abruptly closer to Jensen on the couch and jerks Jensen’s hand to his mouth, immediately setting about cleaning all the stickiness from it. After the first finger—Jensen’s pinky, with the tiny callus on the tip from his guitar—he raised his gaze to Jensen’s, enough of a question in his eyes to draw a frantic, jerky nod in response, more than adequate to keep him going.

Jared moves from fingers to palm, spreading the flat of his tongue across it in a hot, broad swipe. The skin there is saltier underneath the sugar of the pineapple than it was on Jensen’s fingers and Jared can’t help the shaky sound that jumps out of his throat when the flavor reminds him of the taste of Jensen’s cock. His tongue strokes again, higher, along the line of calluses at the base of Jensen’s fingers and into the crease above them where the juice collected a little thicker.

Jensen hasn’t much noise beyond his initial startled grunt at the first touch of Jared’s tongue, but he lets out an unsteady, horny-sounding _unh_ at that. Jared turns Jensen’s wrist to get the back of his hand, applying a little suction where some of the juice has dried sticky and stubborn, and Jensen’s hips give a sharp twitch.

Jared grins, shoving the spit-cleaned hand roughly towards Jensen’s own crotch before grabbing Jensen’s left hand and sliding the fingers into his mouth by twos instead of one-by-one. Jared wants to finish the second hand faster, but more than that, he wants to tease Jensen by sliding his tongue in between the sweetened digits while he sucks them hard enough to cave his cheeks in against them. He finishes with the thumb, rubbing the pad in a slow drag against the roof of his mouth, teasing them both.

Jensen jerks his hand away fast enough for Jared’s mouth to make a wet popping sound that has his cock jerking inside his loose jeans. The hand moves immediately to the back of Jared’s neck, the fingers into his hair, to yank his head back. Jensen climbs on top of him, knees straddling his thighs and pushing Jared back into the corner and more along the length of the couch than before, the hand in his hair holding him at the perfect angle for Jensen to fuck his tongue into Jared’s mouth.

The seam of Jensen’s cargo shorts is perfectly aligned with Jared’s dick when Jensen grinds down against it, and the buck of Jared’s hips pushes the hard line of Jen’s cock down against his stomach. Jensen breathes against Jared’s mouth, shallow pants in an unfocused attempt to catch his breath, and it takes Jared a full minute after hearing the sounds coming out of Jen’s mouth to realize that they’re words.

“You’re a goddamn tease, Jared. God, your fuckin’ _mouth_.”

Jared groans, Jensen’s words and his tone—that low, growly sound that he associates with _Dean_ , not his Jen—shoot right through his balls. “ _I’m_ a tease? I’ve been watching you eat _fruit_ for twenty damn minutes. I’m a man of fucking steel!”

The dirty sound of Jen’s chuckle makes Jared almost believe that was the intent all along. Jensen muffles the end of the sound in the pale skin of Jared’s throat, where he bites lightly but sucks fiercely. Jared can feel the heat of the hickey forming for long minutes after Jensen’s mouth has moved away.

Jensen shuffles his knees up and pushes Jared’s shoulders down, and Jared has to close his eyes and palm against the heat of his cock because he knows what’s coming next. He’s next to dying for the salty-sweet taste in his mouth from Jensen’s hand to become the stronger briny taste of his cock.

He rests his head back on the little decorative pillow caught awkwardly beneath him to look up, grinning at the bare sliver of Jensen’s eyes visible between his ridiculous eyelashes, at Jensen thumbing his shorts open one-handed. Jensen lowers the zipper, his hand dipping inside and around himself. Instead of pulling out of his clothes, he jerks his dick a few times, the movement of his hand somehow hotter for being inside shorts and boxers, hidden from view. Jared has to press his thumb in a line down his cock, hard, and squeeze his thighs shut tight against the ache in his balls.

Jared watches the continued movement of Jensen’s hand behind the cotton, and the extended seconds are too much for his gossamer patience.

“You gonna jerk off in your pants or you gonna fuck my mouth?” He tries to make the question sound teasing and mulish, but lands somewhere east of desperate.

Jensen smiles, a mixture of filthy and amused. “Maybe I’m gonna jerk off in your mouth.”

Jared laughs and groans in a strange jumble of sounds before deciding _fuck that_ and _maybe next time_ , grabbing the bunched fabric at Jensen’s hips and pulling it down himself. The hand moving on Jensen’s cock transitions smoothly from stroking to pushing the tip of his dick past Jared’s lips, the circle of his fingers descending towards the base as more of him disappears into Jared’s mouth.

Jared doesn’t let him stop until he’s pushed past his own gag reflex and has Jensen as far as he can go, the powerful scent of Jensen’s pubes in his nose, the even stronger taste of his dick pushing pre-come right into Jared’s throat. He groans, distantly hearing Jensen’s immediate echo, _this_ taste what he was after the whole time, not the sickly sugar of the fruit coating Jen’s hands.

Jensen pulls back and Jared drops his head, not bothering to actively participate, ready when Jensen almost immediately thrusts back in, again, again, alternately coating Jared’s tongue and the roof of his mouth with his flavor. He takes it, hands still gripping the waistband of Jensen’s shorts and underwear like a lifeline, thighs and ass clenching and jerking repeatedly at the frantic need for touch.

Jensen is noisy, grunts, shaky breaths, moans, whimpers, pleas, curses, “Jay, Jay, _Jay_ ” clogging the air with sound and heat. Jared’s face is aflame with the hum of it and the exertion, and when Jensen clutches his hair and shoots into his mouth, his voice cracks and breaks, “Jared, fuck, _fuck_ , ohgod.”

Jared swallows and jerks, the intimate smooth slide of Jensen’s come down his throat a shocking wave of pleasure that streaks through him with unexpected force. Jared’s coming almost before his hand can untangle from Jensen’s clothes to curve around his own dick through his jeans.

He watches Jensen watch him; shame and something akin to triumph fighting to pink his own cheeks, but Jensen’s expression is slack with pleasure and what looks dangerously like awe. When he calms down enough to actually use his hands, he tucks Jensen’s soft, sticky cock away, rights his clothes without bothering with the zipper or button. Jensen drags his thumb across Jared’s stinging lower lip, testing the swollen plumpness with a huff of breath before slumping, heavily, a puppet with severed strings.

Jared slips easily to a comfortable, half-drowsing state, the solid warmth of Jensen atop him leading him closer and closer to sleep. “Y’know,” Jensen’s drawling murmur breaks the silence. “I was eating the stupid fruit because I was hoping the sugar or the vitamins or something would help me _not_ sleep the whole afternoon away.”

“Aww,” Jared mocks, but Jensen grunts and shifts above him.

“I’m serious, Jay. I got an early set-call in the morning for some voice dubs or something.”

“Okay, okay,” Jared’s voice soothes, but his hands clutch tighter at Jensen to keep him _there_. They’re quiet for a few minutes longer, the tantalizing lure of sleep so close Jared can almost taste it.

“Tell you what,” he tells Jensen when he feels the shift and bunch of muscles in his back beneath Jared’s hands. “Nap with me now, I promise I’ll wear you out enough later that you’ll sleep through the night just fine.”

Jensen huffs like he doesn’t believe him, or maybe like Jared’s idea is lame and destined to fail, but the looseness in his body tells Jared all he needs to know.

“The longer we sleep now, the harder you have to work later,” Jensen warns him in a loose, tired drawl.

“Yeah,” Jared whispers, tucking his nose in next to the warm damp of Jensen’s hair. “I’m ok with that.”


End file.
